


The Indecent Proposal

by beetle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, Fights, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Making Up, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstanding, Moving In Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the TFA Kink Meme prompt (http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=42042#cmt42042): "their first fight (light angst with happy-ending)"</p><p>Well, it's actually more of a misunderstanding. . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Indecent Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Warnings: Vague spoilers for TFA.

Poe groaned and, bracing his shoulders and neck in the pillow, bucked his hips off the bed, thrusting into his lover slow and hard, just the way Finn liked it. For his part, Finn rode Poe’s dick like he was born to do nothing else, undulating his slim hips, his head thrown back and mouth open as he tried and repeatedly failed to say Poe’s name.

 

All that kept coming from those sinful lips was: “Puh—Puh—Puh!”

 

Finn was clenching his muscles around Poe’s dick like he never wanted to let it go, and doing the same with Poe’s left hand, held in his right. His other hand was a veritable blur on his thick, gorgeous cock.

 

Just the sight of Finn this way, his long, lean body covered in a sheen of sweat, the muscles in arms and thighs straining under smooth, sienna skin, was almost enough to make Poe come . . . hard, wild, and uncontrolled.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed, licking sweat-salty lips and grinning, even though his eyes stung from sweat and not blinking. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Finn like this. “Fuck, you’re so _beautiful_. Force help me, I love you. . . .”

 

Finn laughed—which did _amazing_ things to the muscles surrounding Poe’s dick—and looked down at Poe, his eyes shining. “You’re such a _girl_ ,” he managed to puff out, his eyes narrowing to slits as he bit his bottom lip and began to bounce up and down on Poe’s dick faster.

 

“A girl, huh? This big cock you’re bouncing on says otherwise.” Poe grinned and ran his free hand up Finn’s taut thigh, and with his other tugged on the hand that still held his until Finn got the picture and leaned down into the waiting kiss. It started out sweet and slow and exploring, then became a clash of tongues and teeth . . . until Poe was fucking Finn’s mouth with his tongue. His hand slid from Finn’s thigh, back around to his ass, where it squeezed and kneaded hard, then held Finn still as Poe carefully, artfully, rolled them over on his bed. When he was on top of Finn, Finn’s long legs wrapped around him, and the ex-Stormtrooper arched up into him with a needy moan.

 

“Fuck me,” he commanded, his eyes squeezed shut as he bit his full lower lip. Poe leaned down and sucked a kiss from those lips again, and nuzzled Finn’s nose with his own.

 

“You’re awful pushy for a bottom,” he murmured, and Finn laughed again—giggled, really. It was adorable, and Finn, Mr. Big Deal, would of course _never_ admit to having done so.

 

Instead, he wrapped his arms around Poe’s neck and sighed, gazing up into Poe’s eyes, his own still shining and sparkling like a night sky and evening stars.

 

“And you’re awful obedient for a top,” he said, giggling once more. Then he sighed again, closing his eyes and hissing as Poe rocked into him, hard and _fast_ , this time. “Oh, _fuck_!”

 

“Mhmm.” Poe nuzzled his way down to Finn’s neck and inhaled. No matter what Finn had been doing, no matter how often he showered, his skin always smelled like a combination of musk and fresh-hewn _sherrath_ -wood: sweet and mellow. And after they fucked, Finn smelled like musk, _sherrath_ -wood, _and_ Poe.

 

The best possible combination of scents in the known universe.

 

Poe took a deep breath and laced his fingers together with Finn’s, and with his other hand, pushed Finn’s left leg up and out, in an effort to go deeper . . . not that there could ever be deep _enough_. Finn’s body was like a furnace—a tight, controlled furnace, and Poe always wondered if that extravagant, addictive heat was even hotter at Finn’s core.

 

He would never stop trying to find out.

 

Finn gasped and made a small whining noise through his nose. Poe sat up and stopped thrusting as he worriedly gazed into his lover’s shining face.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“What? Yeah.” Finn opened his eyes, making the most adorably irritated and impatient face. “Why’d you _stop_?”

 

Poe blushed. “I thought . . . I thought I hurt you.”

 

Finn rolled his eyes and clenched tight around Poe’s dick while he ran one hand up into Poe’s curly hair. “Yeah, you’re hurtin’ me _real_ bad, Poe. Why don’tcha hurt me some more?”

 

“Roger _that_.” Poe’s answering smile was slow and promising. Indeed, he certainly applied himself to his task with renewed vigor, until Finn’s whiny noise had turned into sustained, high-pitched gasps.

 

Finally, Finn’s arms tightened almost chokingly around Poe’s neck, his cheek pressed against Poe’s damp curls. “Gonna . . . oh, _fuck_ , _Poe_ . . . gonna _commmmmme_. . . !

 

Poe, who’d buried his face in the hollow junction between Finn’s shoulder and neck, sat up just enough to observe Finn’s face. “Me, too,” he panted, stealing another kiss. “But first one to come has to get up and get a damp towel _and_ dinner from the mess, afterwards.”

 

Finn’s eyes opened, flashing and amused. “Oh, it’s _on_ , fly-boy . . . it’s _so_ on!”

 

And then Finn did this clench-ripple-roll-bucking up thing that made Poe’s eyes roll up in his head. Where Finn—who’d never even been kissed before Poe, let alone fucked—had learned such a wonderful, _wonderful_ move, was completely beyond Poe. And he didn’t wonder for long, because he had a bet to win, after all.

 

Getting his hands under Finn’s ass, Poe pulled them both upright, so that Poe was sitting on his heels and Finn was sitting in his lap. Both their eyes widened as gravity took Poe a few precious centimeters deeper into Finn’s tight body.

 

“Remember: I like my meat barely cooked and my _lenpo_ tubers extra crispy,” Poe said, grinning as he kissed Finn. “And bring plenty of both, wouldja? We’re gonna need the protein and carbs.”

 

“ _You’re_ the one who’s gonna be bringing _me_ meat and tubers, fly-boy.” Finn clenched, rippled, rolled, bucked up . . . then _impaled_ himself on Poe . . . a move that made them both moan and clutch at each other.

 

“You okay, Finn?”

 

Finn, still wide-eyed, nodded. “I think the tip of your cock just glanced off my uvula, but I’m fine. _More than_ fine.”

 

Poe blinked. “The fuck’s a _uvula_? Isn’t that a, uh, woman-thing?”

 

Finn laughed and leaned his forehead against Poe’s. “Actually, it’s a humanoid-thing. It’s that little dangly-thing at the back of your throat.”

 

“Huh. I thought that was my tonsils.”

 

“Common mistake.”

 

“Huh.” Poe’s brow furrowed. Then he scowled. “Wait, why’re we talking shop while we fuck?”

 

“Sorry,” Finn said, blushing so deep it very nearly showed up on his dark complexion.

 

“You’d better be.” Poe pouted. “If I can’t talk about my missions in bed, then you can’t talk about the infirmary-stuff in bed, either.”

 

Finn rolled his eyes, but agreed. “Deal.”

 

“Good.” Poe let his scowl melt away. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah: you were bouncing up and down on my dick and about to be getting me dinner. . . .”

 

“ _You’re_ the one who’s about to get _me_ dinner,” Finn insisted, his face screwed into an intense, intent expression of concentration. Suddenly, he smirked and that clench-ripple-roll thing was happening again and again and again, and—and—

 

“ _Fuuuuuck_!” Poe moaned, his eyes squeezing shut as his body tingled, shivered, then went stiff, preparing to come. The last thing he heard before his climax wiped out conscious thought was a petulant:

 

“And you’d better get _me_ off, too, Poe, before you head to the mess hall. . . .”

 

Then Poe was gone . . . flying and floating in a place of serene white light and tangible bliss where even his X-wing couldn’t take him.

 

#

When Poe returned from the mess, whistling and carrying two laden trays of food, it was to see Finn lounging in his bed like a god, all beautiful, smooth, dark skin and perfect ease.

 

He looked unutterably _right_ in Poe’s space.

 

In Poe’s _life_.

 

Poe stood in the open doorway for long moments watching his lover doze, until a loud laugh from down the hall reminded him the door wouldn’t close till he stepped in or out of the room. So he stepped in and it closed on that raucous laugh—it’d sounded like Partika Thenz, Yellow Squad’s leader—unaware of the tender smile on his face.

 

“You’re staring at me,” Finn said without opening his eyes. Poe laughed and carried the trays over to his bed, and placed them down carefully before sitting and leaning down to kiss Finn’s shoulder.

 

“I stare at you a lot.” Kiss. “I always have.”

 

“Mm. That’s not at all creepy.”

 

“It’s romantic, is what it is. Proof that I can’t see you enough and that every time I do is like the first time.”

 

Finn opened his eyes and turned a doubtful gaze on Poe, his expressive eyebrows raised. “Uh-huh. Every time you see me, it’s like we’re aboard the _Finalizer_ and about to escape Kylo Ren’s and Hux’s clutches?”

 

“Exactly.” Poe grinned.

 

Finn rolled his eyes. “You’re such a dweeb.”

 

Poe chuckled. “But you love me that way.”

 

“Yes,” Finn met Poe’s eyes solemnly. “Yes, I do.”

 

Poe’s breath caught. He’d been telling Finn he loved him in different ways, verbal and nonverbal, for the better part of two months. But Finn had never once said the words back. Not even close.

 

“I _do_ love you, Poe Dameron,” Finn said quietly, taking Poe’s hand and pulling it to his lips. He kissed Poe’s knuckles and smiled. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say, but I’ve never said it to anyone before and . . . I wasn’t even sure that I _could_ say it. Or _feel_ it. But what I feel for you is too big to be anything _but_ love. So . . . I love you.”

 

Poe returned the smile, ignoring the stinging on the backs of his eyes as he caressed Finn’s cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, not knowing _what_ would come out—another _I love you_ , perhaps?—but that it had to be said. Had been coming for a long time, and would no longer be denied.

 

“I think,” Poe began, swallowing nervously around a suddenly dry and clicking throat. “I think you should move into my quarters.”

 

Finn’s eyes widened. “Move in . . . _here_?”

 

Poe nodded, and looked away from Finn’s searching gaze. “Well, I mean, you spend more time here than you do in your own quarters—which are smaller, by the way—and no one even goes looking for you there, anymore, when they need to find you. Everyone always comes either here or to the infirmary. And since we can’t live in _there_ , I guess, it makes sense that you move in here. And plus we’ll save on stuff like energy and time and credits and—you know, if we were to . . . _you know_ , make it official with the New Republic, the Resistance'd give us bigger quarters in the f-family section of the Base, which is even closer to the Infirmary Wing than this place is, and— _Finn Dameron_ has a nice ring . . . doesn’t it?” Poe stopped himself right there. He was babbling. Rambling in the worst way, but he suddenly hadn’t been able to stop himself with Finn gazing at him like that, as if he was trying to see down to the depths of Poe’s soul.

 

“I’m sorry—wait—did you just . . . ask me to sign a marriage contract with you?” Finn asked tentatively, disbelievingly. Poe risked a glance at his lover’s surprised face and nodded once.

 

“I . . . yeah.” Poe blushed and looked away again. “I mean, if you wanted to do it, that’d be fine. The general could put the seal on the deal and it’d be done. And we’d get the bigger quarters closer to where you work and . . . yeah.”

 

Finn’s regard was as tangible as sunlight on Poe’s face. For a few moments, anyway. Then it was gone as Finn stood up and strode toward the holovision, where his trousers had been flung mere moments after he’d arrived in Poe’s quarters.

 

“Fuck you,” he said softly, coldly, as he pulled his trousers on then stalked around Poe’s quarters gathering up the rest of his clothes.

 

Poe watched him in shock until Finn was dressed, except for The Jacket. Finn hesitated, holding it and staring at it as if he’d never seen it before.

 

“Finn,” Poe said, unprepared for the expressionless mask his lover suddenly wore. One that was even less telling than the stupid Stormtrooper helmet. “Finn, what—”

 

“If you want bigger quarters, you can talk to the general,” Finn said in that too-still, too-soft, too-cold voice. “You’re one of her favorites. I’m sure she’ll give you whatever you want, if you ask her nice. And you won’t have to marry me just to get it.”

 

And with that, Finn tossed The Jacket at Poe, who caught it absently, without taking his eyes off Finn, who was already stalking out of Poe’s quarters.

 

The door shut behind him and Poe was left holding The Jacket, sitting next to a rapidly cooling dinner for two.

 

#

 

Finn stepped out of his cramped shower, reaching for a towel—and found none.

 

_Of course. I haven’t got any clean towels left because the I haven’t slept in these quarters in at least nine weeks. Perfect._

 

On the heels of that thought, came thoughts of Poe Dameron—which, to be honest, was Finn’s _de facto_ thought, of late—and despite shoving them away hard, the thoughts immediately came back. Finn saw red—almost punched the shower wall, which only would’ve resulted in a broken hand for him, and a trip to the very infirmary where he was being trained as a medic. And of course, he’d then have to explain to Medic Oyedichi’i why, exactly, he had a broken hand, and. . . .

 

No. Just . . . no.

 

So, dripping wet and glaring, he strode out of his tiny bathroom and into the barely larger main room of his quarters to see . . . boxes.

 

Big ones, slightly less big ones, and medium sized ones, lined up neatly along the edges of the room. And laying on Finn’s perfectly-made bed—you could take the guy out of the Stormtroopers, but you couldn’t take the Stormtrooper out of the guy—was The Jacket.

 

Finn was still staring and trying to figure out what exactly had happened in the twenty minutes since he’d been in the bathroom, when the door to his quarters opened and Poe strode in carrying another box, BB-8 on his heels, beeping and tweeting and booping away.

 

“What’re you doing?!” Finn demanded as Poe, seemingly ignoring him, searched for a place to put the box he carried. BB-8 rolled across the room, near to where Finn was standing, and beeped something. Poe looked over and grinned.

 

“Yeah. There’ll do just fine.”

 

And he crossed the room and sat the box down where BB-8 had apparently indicated.

 

Then he looked up at Finn, smiled, and moved closer, until Finn was backed up against the bathroom doorpost. Poe then reached out and pulled a tokenly resisting Finn into his arms, kissing the tip of his nose, then glancing around them with assessing eyes.

 

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “It _is_ a bit small. But I don’t really care. I’d live happily in a supply closet, as long as I could live there with you.”

 

Finn blinked. Then glared, shoving ineffectually at Poe’s shoulders for a few seconds. But Poe wasn’t letting go. “Don’t lie to me, Poe. Or say what you think I wanna hear.”

 

Poe met Finn’s eyes and sighed. “That you think that’s what I’m doing tells me how badly I botched my proposal.”

 

“Poe—”

 

“Hear me out, Finn.” Poe looked down for a moment, then up into the angry, hurt—more hurt, than angry, though Finn would die before admitting to that—eyes waiting for him to go on. “When I’m nervous, I talk. A lot. And sometimes I say stupid shit, or shit that comes out entirely different from the way I mean it. . . .

 

“I didn’t mean to propose to you.”

 

Finn’s eyes widened, the hurt in them unhidden and bright. “So you _don’t_ really want larger quarters?”

 

Poe groaned. “Sweetheart, like I said, I don’t care where I live, as long as you’re there with me.” He shook his head. “I’ve been wanting to propose to you since . . . Hell, since the first time I saw you in my jacket. But I didn’t mean to do it till the time was right, and . . . and the words were right. I mean, I talk a good game, but when it comes down to it, when I’m uncertain, I just say stupid, wrong things—the _worst_ things, apparently. Things I don’t even mean.”

 

“Like asking me to marry you. I get it,” Finn said, nodding and blinking furiously. It felt as if something huge and tight was clamping down on his chest, making it all but impossible to breathe. “You don’t have to keep explaining it to me. Despite what you’ve heard, not all Stormtroopers are slow on the uptake.”

 

Poe shook his head again. “You’re not slow. It’s _me. I’m_ the one who’s a fucking idiot for saying it all wrong.” And with that, Poe let go of Finn and slowly got to one knee. Finn frowned and watched until Poe was kneeling and holding Finn’s left hand in both of his.

 

“What’re you _doing_ , Poe?”

 

“Proposing to you the _right_ way.” Poe’s hazel eyes searched Finn’s, and then he reached into the right pocket of his trousers. He came out with a chunky silver ring, worked with runes Finn couldn’t read and set with small diamonds, scattered among the runes like stars across the night sky.

 

“Finn . . . I love you more than anyone in the universe,” Poe said fervently, slipping the ring on Finn’s pinky. It fit perfectly. “This is the ring my mom proposed to my dad with. He gave it to me when I left home, and told me to keep it until I met someone worth giving it to.”

 

He looked down for a moment, his face a study in consternation. Then he was gazing up into Finn’s face again, his expression smoothing out. “I don’t want to marry you to get bigger quarters, or better pay or any of that crap. I want to marry you because you’re the only person I could _imagine_ giving this ring to. Could imagine _marrying_. I want us to be official in the eyes of the New Republic and everyone we know. I want you to be officially part of my family. To be a _Dameron_. I want us to settle down on Yavin 4 when the war is finally over, and start a family. And I want to lay down with you every night and wake up with you every morning. I want . . . you. _Only you_. And if that means living in your quarters, my quarters, or in the infirmary, I don’t care because I’ll be the happiest man alive. I’ll have _you_ by my side.”

 

Gaping, Finn’s brow furrowed and he held up his hand with the ring on it, looking at the ring from different angles as his heart sank even further than it already had. “I . .  . it’s pretty. Is it a bribe?”

 

Poe blinked. “A _bribe_?”

 

Finn crossed his arms. “You can’t bribe me with jewelry, Poe. No matter how nice.”

 

Laughing and shaking his head, Poe captured Finn’s hand after a brief tug of war, which he won.

 

“Baby, I’m not bribing you, I’m—it’s a tradition in the Outer Rim for the person who proposes to give the one he loves a ring as a promise of fidelity, constancy, and loyalty.” Sighing, Poe glanced briefly away from the distrust in Finn’s eyes. “It’s . . . a symbol.”

 

Confused, now, Finn looked at the ring again. “A symbol of what?”

 

Grinning, Poe kissed his hand lingeringly. “Of love, you dope. What’ve I been saying for the past five minutes? The past two months? I. Love. _You_! I _love_ you, and nothing would honor me more, make me happier, than if you became my husband.” Searching Finn’s eyes, Poe stood up and pulled Finn close once more. “Marry me, Finn. Wear my ring and take my name. Cleave to me till death us do part.”

 

“I—I—” Completely shocked and uncertain of what to do, Finn stammered for most of a minute, until Poe laughed and kissed him.

 

“Can I take that as a _yes_?” The question was followed by more kisses that left Finn’s knees weak.

 

“You—don’t just—want me so you can—requisition larger quarters?” he finally asked, panting when Poe let him up for air.

 

“No, Finn. In fact—” Poe looked around at all the boxes and BB-8, who had been watching them silently. “I’m more than happy to move in here with you. Granted, it’ll be a little cramped for two, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be in tight quarters with.”

 

Finn swallowed and for the moment ignored the valiant stand his cock was trying to make. For the moment. “So . . . you want me to marry you because you . . . love me?”

 

Poe nodded. “Yes. I love you. I may not say it in the fanciest way, but yes, I love you so much, the thought of _not_ being married to you has become intolerable.”

 

Finn closed his eyes for a minute, trying to think. But all he could do was try to visualize what it might be like having a husband and a home and a family and—and—

 

Have the life that he’d once thought the First Order had stolen from him forever.

 

He _tried_ to visualize it . . . and failed. He couldn’t remember what it was to have a family, so how could he possibly imagine what it would be like to have one again?

 

“Finn?” Poe asked, brushing at the unbidden tears that rolled down Finn’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

 

Opening his eyes, Finn sighed. “I . . . I don’t know how to be what you want. To do the normal things normal husbands do. I don’t know how to be a regular person. I can’t be what you want.”

 

Poe smiled. “Of course you can, Finn. Because what I want is _you_.” Bringing their faces together so that their lips brushed with every word, Poe said: “Will you marry me? Please? You’re all I want. All I’ve _ever_ wanted. _You_ . . . just as you are.”

 

Finn let himself be kissed—let Poe’s warm, dry, rough hands slide across his damp flesh . . . up and down his back, to settle finally, decisively on his ass.

 

“ _Marry me_ , Finn.”

 

“O-okay.”

 

Poe leaned back to look into Finn’s eyes. “Okay?”

 

Finn nodded nervously, trying on a smile of his own. “Okay— _yes_. I’ll marry you.”

 

Poe whooped and scooped Finn up in his arms, turning in a circle. Finn yelped, and hung on for dear life as Poe marched them the exactly nine steps to Finn’s bed.

 

“I love you, baby, I love you so much,” Poe kept murmuring between kisses as he lay on top of Finn and they rolled around—as much as they could—on Finn’s narrow single bed. “I’m happy to live here, but the one thing we’re _definitely_ gonna requisition once we’re legal is a double bed for this room.”

 

Finn pulled his lover’s head up by the hair to look into his eyes. “Are you _kidding_ me? When we’re married, we’re _not_ living _here_! We’re getting bigger quarters and a _king_ bed.”

 

Poe gaped at Finn. “But—but—”

 

“After all, it’ll be closer to the infirmary. And the mess hall, now that I think about it,” Finn said contemplatively. “Though it’ll be farther from the main hangar . . . you don’t mind that, do you?”

 

Poe searched Finn’s face and grinned, shaking his head. “Not at all, babe.” He nuzzled Finn’s cheek. “I love you, Finn . . . Finn Dameron.”

 

Finn shivered, joy replacing the last of his fear, anxiety, and trepidation. “And I love you, Poe Dameron.”

 

Poe kissed Finn’s earlobe. “Are you still slick from before?”

 

Finn made a small choked moan in the back of his throat as he remembered the aforementioned valiant stand made by his cock just minutes before. He wrapped his legs around Poe’s hips and ground against him, whispering. “Should be.”

 

“ _Oh_ , yeah. In that case—BB: get out.”

 

[Beep-Tweet-Boop!]

 

Finn and Poe listened for the door to Finn’s quarters opening and closing with the small droid’s exit. Then they laughed and kissed. And nearly fell off the bed when Poe tried to roll them over.

 

They scrambled and flailed and in a few seconds were once more firmly on Finn’s bed, gazing into each other’s wide eyes.

 

“That was fucking close,” Poe said.

 

“No shit. Hey, until the new quarters come through, can we maybe, uh, stay in yours?” Finn asked casually, looking everywhere but at Poe, who was again left gaping. Finn risked a glance at him and blushed so deep, it actually _was_ visible on his complexion. “I’m just saying . . . the bed there’s bigger, is all.”

 

Finally, chuckling, Poe rolled his eyes and leaned down to kiss his embarrassed lover’s cheek, inhaling his clean, musky, _sherrath_ -sweet scent. “Of course. Whatever you say, dear.”

 

END


End file.
